Memorable
by Greyleaf
Summary: Reese and Finch's latest POI is missing even before they find out who he is. When they do find him he presents a unique situation. Non-slash. 2/18/13 Updated to (hopefully)improve readability.


As Reese walked down the corridor, he could hear Finch humming. He paused a moment to allow himself a grin. Then he carefully tucked it away, replaced with his usual detached expression before he walked into the room. Bear looked up at him from the dog bed next to the computer table, ears pricked forward in anticipation.

"Good morning," Reese said as he bent over to slip the dog a treat and scratch his ears. He straightened up to find his employer looking at him, apparently having just added a photo to the glass room divider. Finch's smile implied he was finding something amusing.

"Was that for me or Bear?" Finch was definitely in a good mood.

"The greeting was for you, Finch; the _treat_ was for the dog." Reese walked over to look at the picture that was just put up. "But, if you'd like, next time I could bring you a treat as well. Is this our new case?"

One corner of Finch's smile quirked a little as he turned to look at the photo. It showed a middle-aged white man, prominent forehead indicating that his mousey brown hair was receding. His square face was a little puffy and his brown eyes were unsmiling.

"Michael Strong. Lives in Portland." Finch walked over to the computer table and sat in the chair. "Flew in _very_ early this morning, rented a car and then, as far as I can tell, disappeared." Finch adjusted his glasses a little as he looked at the screen.

Reese moved quickly to look over Finch's shoulder at the computer. "Are we too late?"

"I feared so, until I realized that we received Strong's number _after_ the transponder in his rental car went off-line." Finch turned in the chair to look up at Reese. "Since the machine detects evidence of pre-meditated murder, we have to assume that, whoever the perpetrator is, their plans came to its attention about the time Mr. Strong fell off the grid. While it's possible he is the victim and has already been killed, it would have been very quick planning to have gotten to him so soon after he left the airport." Finch turned back to the computer. "If he's the perp he may have disabled the transponder so that there would be no record of his travels."

Reese was quiet for a moment. "Or, maybe something's happened to the car."

Finch glanced at him and nodded. "In any case, for the moment we have to assume he's still alive." After a pause, he started typing. "I've been monitoring the rental car company's communications to see if they dispatch any tow trucks."

"Hospitals and police reports?"

Finch nodded again without looking up. "That thought had already occurred. So far, nothing."

Reese walked over to look at the photo again. It was amazing how many of their P.O.I.s appeared to be so completely unremarkable. "So, what's this guy's story?" Reese heard the keyboard taps stop.

"Michael Strong is, or I should say, _was_, in the shipping industry."

"Lost his job, then. Married?"

"Yes. He's been married eighteen years. Wife's name is Linda. She's self-employed." There was a pause. "Owns a restaurant supply company. It appears to be doing well."

"Did she come here with him?" Reese turned to look at Finch.

"No. According to the airline's passenger list, he traveled alone."

"Maybe he came out for a job interview." Reese paced slowly past the computer table as he thought. "Is there some way to know if he had programmed an address into the rental car's GPS?"

Finch gave him a bemused look and turned back to the keyboard. "I do have my limitations, Mr. Reese."

"Well, that's a relief," Reese deadpanned. Standing slightly to the side and behind Finch, he decided to test a hunch. "So, Strong worked in shipping? That reminds me. I tried to call Sarah Johnson last week." Finch's fingers hesitated on the keyboard. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. "You know, just to check on her. There was a recording directing clients to another limo company. _They_ said she was out of town." Reese watched Finch closely. "From what they told me, though, she should have been back yesterday." The look that stole onto Finch's face was the one Reese had seen once before, the day Finch had met Sarah. That expression told him that he was correct as to the reason for the other man's improved mood. Reese smiled. He was about to push a little further when Finch stopped typing and stared intently at the monitor. Reese's smile disappeared.

"I've found our man."

Stepping behind Finch, Reese rested a hand on the back of the chair as he leaned forward, his attention now entirely on the computer monitor. "There was an accident," Reese said, reading the text on the screen. "Looks like the car was pretty much totaled."

"Which would explain why the transponder stopped working." Finch brought up another window. "Mr. Strong has been taken to the hospital."

"So, he's alive?"

"Right now, yes. The EMTs report he could have serious head trauma."

Reese straightened up. "Police report?"

"They're still on the scene." Finch turned the chair to look at Reese. "At this point, it appears to be a single car accident. There hasn't been any suggestion that there was anything suspicious about it."

Reese nodded. Finch had gotten good at anticipating Reese's questions. "They wouldn't necessarily be looking for anything. And, if someone else caused the 'accident', the police may not realize it until it's too late. If Strong is the victim, and he survives, his killer may try to finish the job while he's at the hospital."

"What if he's the perpetrator?"

Reese shrugged. "I guess we'll have to determine that. But, it sounds like he's not going to be hunting down his victim any time soon." Reese pulled out his phone. "Send me the hospital's location. I'll go check on Strong." Reese read the address that appeared on his screen and started back out the way he'd come. "Let me know what the police find."

As Reese strode down the hallway, he could hear, just above the soft tap of the keyboard keys, Finch humming that tune again.

* * *

Finch dialed up a number as he continued to monitor the police and emergency communications.

"Carter speaking."

"Good morning, Detective. I need you to do something for me."

There was a pause. "_Good morning_ to you, too. I hope it's something easy. I'm up to my chin in attempted homicides right now."

"Oh?" Finch stopped typing and looked blankly at the monitor. "I wasn't aware-"

"It's not anything you'd have known about, Finch," Carter broke in. "A couple of gangs surprised each other. Seems like they had the same urge for a picnic. At the same park."

Finch blinked at the mental image this brought up.

"So, what do you need?"

He eased back in his chair a little. "There was a single car accident. The driver's in the hospital. We need the last address that was programmed into the GPS. I'm sending you the particulars."

"_Seems_ simple enough." There was a pause, probably because Carter was reading the info on her phone's screen. "Rental car. You know, this is not in my jurisdiction. I'm gonna need a good story as to why I want this information."

"Well, you could say that you think he's got connections to one of your gangs."

Carter snorted. "From his description, it doesn't seem likely."

Finch smiled. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Detective." Finch turned his attention back to the information that was appearing on his screen. "Oh, and whatever story you come up with, see that it requires that someone goes to keep an eye on Mr. Strong. John may need to follow up on that address."

Carter sighed. "Sure. No problem." She sounded tired. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

By the time Reese arrived at the hospital, Strong had been moved from Emergency to a room on the third floor. The attendant at the Nurse's Station, a sturdy blonde youth whose name tag said his name was Quinton, bought Reese's story that he was an Insurance Investigator. Reese neglected to say for whom.

"Man, you guys move quick." The young man looked at Reese with a mix of surprise and reproach. Looking down the hall he continued, "We only just got him moved in. And they won't let you see him."

Reese glanced in the same direction, noting the doorway with the most activity. Turning back to Quinton he smiled. "Well, it just so happens I was here for another case. My office called me about this one. Said the police told them Mr. Strong had been brought here." Reese dropped his voice a little. "They also said he was pretty banged up."

Quinton's eyes narrowed as he looked at him. "Maybe. But you know I can't tell you anything."

Reese nodded. "I know. But I thought that when I get in touch with his wife, Linda, it would be nice to be able to reassure her about his condition."

Quinton, somewhat mollified, nodded in turn. "Yeah. But I still can't tell you anything." He hesitated. "But, if you speak to her, let her know we've been trying to reach her."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. We found a number for her on his cell. But, the calls go directly to voicemail."

Reese smiled a little. "I'll be sure to tell her."

* * *

Reese found a spot where he could watch the Nurse's Station, waiting for an opportunity to go to Strong's room. He tapped his earpiece. "Finch?"

"Reese. I don't have anything new to tell you yet. Have you been able to see Mr. Strong?"

He glanced down the hallway. "No. I did find out the hospital's been trying to reach his wife, but haven't been able to yet."

"Sounds as if he may be unconscious. Or heavily drugged. Otherwise, he'd be the one trying to reach her."

There was a small commotion at the desk, a woman loudly demanding something be done for her daughter. Her heavy accent - Reese recognized it as Russian – was not understood by the hospital staff and the loud voices drew everyone's attention away from the hallway. "I guess I'll find out shortly," Reese murmured as he moved quickly towards Strong's room.

"What do you hope to find out Mr. Reese? If Strong's unconscious or drugged…"

"I hope to find his phone. It should be in his room with his other belongings." The door was open and Reese paused briefly before going through the doorway, trying to ascertain if there was any one there besides Strong. Hearing nothing, he slipped in. The room was set up for two occupants and his eyes darted from the cabinet and unoccupied bed by the window at the other end of the room, to its side table, to the curtain divider that was pushed back to the wall, and then to the bed and cabinet nearest the door. He started to move to the cabinet but stopped in his tracks, his eyes on the man sitting up in the bed. The man in the bed looked back. Reese blinked, then smiled.

"Mr. Strong. I'm glad to see you're awake." He stepped a little closer to the bed and away from the doorway. He noted the bandages on the man's head, the bruises on his face. Reese thought he looked pretty good, considering the reported condition of the car.

Michael Strong looked at Reese, his brow slightly furrowed. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?" He seemed agitated and his speech was a little slow. One large hand picked at the neckline of his hospital gown as if it bothered him.

Reese kept his voice friendly. "No. My name's John. I work for the rental car company." Reese moved a little closer to the cabinet. "I was hoping you could tell me what happened."

Strong frown deepened and he shook his head, wincing a little. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I seem to be having trouble remembering things." His agitation seemed to increase. "I don't know how the accident happened."

"That's okay, Mr. Strong. I'm sure we can get what we need from the police." Reese gestured to the cup of ice chips someone had left on the table next to the bed. "Would you like some ice?" As he retrieved the cup, he opened the cabinet a little and spotted the clear plastic bag with Strong's things sitting at the bottom. He could see the phone on top of the clothes. Turning back to Strong he handed him the cup. "I've been told that the hospital has been trying to reach your wife. I guess they found her number on your phone, but she's not answering. Maybe there's another number where she can be reached?"

Strong stared at the plastic cup in his hands. "I'm not sure." He looked up at him. Reese thought Strong's pupils seemed a little large; probably from what ever pain meds he'd been given. "I mean…there might be, but I can't seem to remember. They put my phone in there," he said, gesturing to the cabinet. "You could check, I guess."

Reese smiled. All of his P.O.I.s should be this accommodating. Knowing that a nurse or doctor could be coming in at any moment to check on their patient, he moved quickly, not even trying to hide what he was doing. He hoped Strong's befuddled condition would keep him from realizing what was happening. Using his own phone, Reese was able to send Strong's contact list and recent call history to Finch. As he returned the phone to the cabinet, Finch's voice spoke in his ear.

"Reese, see if you can scan the bar code on his wristband, too."

Reese turned back to Strong. "Thank you, Mr. Strong." He extended his free hand. Strong automatically extended his own in response. Reese placed his other hand that was still holding his phone on top of their clasped ones and held them awkwardly for a moment. "I'll see what I can do about reaching your wife."

Back out in the hallway, Reese slipped out towards the waiting area, avoiding the notice of the people at the Nurses Station. He sat in a poorly lit, uninviting corner, away from prying eyes and ears. "Well, Finch, have you been able to find anything from Strong's contact list?"

"I'm still checking on the numbers. But, the police are now looking at the accident as a hit and run. Apparently, there is some paint transfer on the rental car. They've ordered traffic camera footage for that area."

Reese arched an eyebrow. "Are you letting the police do your work for you, Finch?"

"For the moment, Reese. After all, why duplicate efforts?" Finch said, dryly. "Besides, we have a complication."

Reese shifted slightly in his chair. An older woman, dressed more warmly that the weather outside warranted, started to wander over to the area Reese was in so he sniffled, coughed and faked a sneeze. The woman stopped in the act of sitting down and went to another area.

"Are you getting sick, Mr. Reese?" Finch seemed surprised at the thought.

"Just protective camouflage. What's this complication?"

"I've accessed Mr. Strong's hospital records. He has amnesia. He not only can't remember the accident, he doesn't remember why he flew to New York. There's even some question of whether he remembers his wife."

Reese leaned back a little and sighed. "So, our case is a man who's apparently been in a hit and run accident and now has amnesia. He can't remember who hit him or why he's here and we don't know if someone is trying to kill _him_ or if _he's_ trying to kill someone else."

"That's about it."

"So, now what? Do you have any other leads?"

"Not yet, Reese." Finch sounded a little frustrated as well. "I've finished checking his contact list. All of the numbers are people or businesses in Portland."

"The call history?"

"I'm still checking. I've identified the airline, the car rental company. There's some I haven't been able to find yet."

"What about the wife, Linda? Is there another number for her?"

"No. Just the one. But, your comment earlier gave me an idea. I've got Detective Carter checking into the rental car's GPS device. Maybe she can find out if Strong put in an address before his accident. That might give us another lead to explore."

"What am I to do in the meantime?"

"Well, you could pick up some lunch. The cafeteria is on the first floor. I would suggest chicken soup."

* * *

Finch continued to look into the mystery numbers. On the other monitor, a window displayed the hospital records for Michael Strong. Finch glanced at them from time to time, monitoring any changes. The attending physician was limiting his pain meds. The police had asked for tests to determine blood alcohol levels or the presence of controlled substances. All pretty routine. In the silence of the room, Finch became aware that he was humming. What's more, it was a tune he had just heard the night before at Sarah's. The memory made him smile. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to cherish their time together, as erratic as it was, until she'd gone away. It was if her apartment was a refuge, just the two of them with nothing to do but enjoy each other's company. Distracted, he glanced at the book that was lying on the adjacent table. It was the one he was currently reading and his eyes focused on the leather bookmark that protruded a little from its pages. A gift from Sarah. The hand tooled pattern was an ancient Native American design that was supposed to provide protection against unseen danger. At least, that's what the craftswoman who sold it to Sarah had told her. Finch didn't believe that, of course, but the symmetrical pattern and symbols were calming and satisfied his sense of order. He found his thoughts turning back to the night before, a small smile on his lips. An incoming call brought him back to the present.

"Good afternoon, Detective. Have you got something for me?"

"I do, Finch." Carter sounded better than she had earlier. "Your man did put an address into the navigator. I'll forward you the file."

"Thank you." Finch looked at his screen as the address appeared. "I must say you seem in better spirits, Carter. I take it your day improved since this morning?"

"Yeah, it did. Turns out a couple of the gang members had outstanding warrants. In fact, one was from the same jurisdiction where your Mr. Strong had his accident. The Gang Task Force detective working that case was so pleased he got me that GPS address. _And _he's sent an officer over to keep an eye on Strong for a few hours."

Finch leaned back a little in his chair, smiling. "This worked out well. Reese will be glad to be able pursue some other leads."

Carter chuckled. "I'll bet. Cooling his heels at a hospital's not exactly his thing."

* * *

Reese was just about to call Finch when he heard that familiar tone in his ear. "Finch? Please tell me you have something."

"Bored, Reese?"

Just then, Reese spotted a uniformed officer walking up to the Nurse's Station. "Did you get the police to send someone over?"

"Ah. I take it the officer has shown up. Carter said that she was able to arrange that. Which means you can follow up on the address that she got from the rental car's GPS. I'm sending it now."

Reese tossed the magazine he'd been thumbing through, the cover of which had a photo and frenetic hyperbole about a young actor, back on the table in front of him. "Good. I was running out of reading material." He looked at the address that appeared on the phone's screen. "Any luck on the phone numbers?"

"Not …entirely. There were several incoming calls from burner phones."

Reese paused in the act of getting up from his chair and then settled back. "That's interesting."

"Yes. Three calls, three different numbers. One of the calls, a rather long one, came in the night before he flew out from Portland. Immediately after that, he booked his flight. The last one came in just before his accident."

"I suppose the burners are out of service now."

"Correct. What do you think this means?"

"I think this means that Strong is not the perp. His victim's not likely to be using burners. And if he were setting up a hit, why come out? Plus, if he were planning something, wouldn't the machine have given us his victim's number after the first call?"

"That would make sense. And, if the killer is out here, Strong wouldn't have been in danger until he'd arrived." Finch was quiet for a moment. "So, it looks as if Mr. Strong is a victim. That makes this address he programmed into the GPS more interesting."

"Any idea what's there?"

"Of course." Finch paused. If Reese didn't know better, he'd say it was for dramatic effect. "It's an apartment building that's been converted to condos. The building has four units."

Reese looked at the address again. "There's no unit number in this address."

"Which means we have at least four possibilities."

Reese watched as the officer was led to Strong's room and take up a position outside the door. "How long do we have the police officer?"

"Carter said only a few hours."

Reese rose from the chair and headed towards the exit. "Then I guess I'd better get going."

* * *

The over-all feel of the neighborhood was that of comfortable living: the street was tree-lined, most of the well-maintained buildings were comprised of dark red brick, mid-afternoon traffic was minimal. The condominiums occupied one floor each of a four story building in the middle of the block. Reese parked on the street not far from the front entrance which was located at one corner of the building.

"Finch?"

"Have you arrived, Reese?"

"Yes. Have you been able to narrow down our possibilities?"

"Yes. One of the units is in foreclosure and appears to be unoccupied. Another is being rented to three people with student visas."

"Not likely to be our perps, then. The other two?"

"One is owned by Robert Mitchell. Single. He's a senior manager for a national trucking company."

"Trucking? Same type of business Strong was in?"

"Yes. You don't suppose Strong _was_ coming for a job interview?"

"At Mitchell's home? Unless…Finch, do you know why Strong lost his job?"

"I hadn't looked into that, Reese. Do you think it's relevant?"

"Could be. It could be the thing that connects Strong and Mitchell. Reese shifted in the car seat. "What about the remaining owner?"

"Brad Donovan. Also single. He's part owner in a couple of businesses: a health food store and a bistro. Both seem to be doing well."

Reese checked for traffic as he reached for the door handle. "While you're checking for connections with Strong, I'll see if anyone's home."

"Oh, they are, Reese."

Reese blinked. "How do you know that?"

"The whole building has the same security company. The computer that monitors the units indicates both Mitchell and Donovan's places are not armed at the moment."

Reese shook his head. He was going to make a comment when the doors to the main entrance opened. Reese watched as a dark haired man in dress slacks and shirt, and a red-haired woman in a dark business jacket and skirt, stepped through the doors. They stopped at the top of the stairs, deep in conversation. "Finch, do you have a description of Mitchell and Donovan?"

"Yes. Mitchell is fifty-eight, six foot one, African-American."

"So, is Donovan forty-something, five foot seven, white?"

"I take it he's come outside."

"Yes. There's a woman with him." Reese straightened up as a thought struck him. "Do you have a description of Linda Strong?"

"Not readily available." Finch seemed startled by the question. "Do you think this woman is her?"

"One way to find out. Call her cell phone." Reese's eyes narrowed as he watched the two still talking. The conversation seemed to be getting heated, Donovan having backed the woman against the railing, his hand gestures coming close to her face. "You might want to hurry, Finch." Reese opened the car door slightly, ready to get out of the car. Perps or not, he wasn't going to let Donovan beat this woman.

Just then, the argument sputtered to a stop, both of them looking at the purse hanging from the woman's shoulder. Her hand dove into its opened top, emerging with a phone. As she looked at it, Donovan could clearly be heard as he started yelling. His hand lashed out and viciously grabbed her forearm, trying with his other to wrest the phone from her hand.

As Reese launched himself from the car, Finch's voice spoke in his ear.

"Anything, Mr. Reese?"

"I'll let you know."

Reese was across the street and up the stairs before Donovan noticed anything, he was so intent on getting the phone. He'd just brought his free arm back, fist closed, when Reese plowed into him, driving him back against the railing with force enough to knock the breath out of him. The woman, now released, collapsed to her knees, visibly shaking but still gripping the phone. Not wanting to prolong the fight and risk drawing any more attention than they might have already, Reese stunned Donovan with a blow to the jaw and left him partially draped over the rail. The woman flinched away from Reese as he squatted down to look at her.

"I won't hurt you." He kept his voice calm. "Are you Linda Strong?"

Her green eyes wide, she stared for a moment as if she was having trouble understanding him. Then she nodded.

Reese looked over at the man on the rail. "Finch, is the alarm still off at Donovan's place?"

"Yes."

He turned back to Linda. "Let's get the two of you inside. Then we can have a talk about your husband."

* * *

Donovan's place was neat and tastefully, if sparsely, furnished. Linda was sitting on the black leather sectional, her jacket lying on the cushion next to her. Her bare forearms were resting on her thighs as she leaned forward, her short hair framing her face. Both manicured hands were wrapped around her glass of water as if it was a talisman that would provide protection. Her voice was faint and shaky and Reese, sitting on a chair across from her, had to strain to hear. She explained how her husband had lost his job; how his drinking, already a problem, had gotten worse. She'd been doing business with Donovan, selling him kitchen equipment for his restaurant.

"You two started sleeping together." Reese felt no particular compulsion to soften his words, but she hardly seemed to notice.

"Yes." As she raised the glass to take a drink her hand shook, spilling water on the white rug. After draining its contents, she set the glass on the table in front of her. When she pushed her hair back, Reese could see the bruises that were starting to show on her arm. "My marriage was in shambles. Brad wanted…_I _wanted to end it."

"So, you and Donovan decided to kill your husband."

Linda closed her eyes as if in pain. "I didn't know he was going that far." She opened her eyes again to look at him. The look on her face – a mix of dismay and fear – told Reese she was being truthful.

He glanced over to the prone figure, zip tied and duct taped, lying on the floor under the front window. Donovan was still unconscious, but that wouldn't last too much longer. "You used burner cell phones to call your husband to lure him out here. What did you think was going to happen?"

Linda sighed. "Brad said he wanted to get him angry. He said that if we could provoke Mike into attacking him it would help in the divorce settlement."

Reese frowned. "Help?"

Linda nodded. "I started my business after Mike and I were married."

"And a divorce could mean you'd need to buy him out."

"Brad said if we used these…burner phones, there would be no evidence that we'd called him and it would look like it was _his_ idea to come out here to confront Brad."

"When did you know what he actually had in mind?"

"Late this morning. We knew Mike had flown in; he tried calling my cell again. I called him back to give him the address. When he didn't show up, we wondered if he'd gotten cold feet." She briefly pressed her fingers to her eyes, obviously tired. "I overheard Brad on his own phone. He was talking to someone, I don't know who, saying that they would have to change their plans, that the 'guy' he'd called them about earlier was late. I asked him what that meant." She drew a ragged breath. "He said that it would be better if Mike was killed…" her voiced faltered. "Brad was going to have a couple of friends here to 'witness' Mike assaulting him. So they could say Brad was acting in self-defense." She looked at Reese, her eyes pleading. "I knew Brad was protective, but this? This is insane. I told him so."

Reese looked at the woman. "But, why? Why did he want to kill your husband?" Linda looked away from him. "What aren't you telling me, Linda?"

She took a long breath, then let it out raggedly. "I had told Brad about Mike's drinking. That he'd lost his job. That we were arguing. A lot." Linda was looking at her hands, clasped in front of her on her lap. "The last fight we had, the night before I left, was violent."

"Mike hit you?"

"No. Not actually. He did throw a bottle at me. It missed but, when it broke, I was hit by some of the glass." She hesitated. Reese waited. "I was angry. I showed the cut to Brad."

Reese sighed. "You told Donovan that your husband attacked you. You let him believe that Mike had tried to hurt you. That you were in fear for your life."

A moan from the prostrate Donovan drew a flinch from Linda as well as a renewed look of fear. "What are we going to do?" she whispered, as if afraid to wake him.

Reese looked at her without much sympathy. "You are going to call the police. You are going to tell them everything." Her widened eyes caused him to relent a little. "The bruises on your arm will go a long way to substantiate your claim that you weren't a willing part of a murder plot."

"Reese. I have some information from Strong's medical file."

He got up and walked over behind the couch, turning away slightly from the woman sitting there. "Has he recovered his memory?"

"No. And they're not sure he ever will. But there was an interesting substance in his system. Disulfiram, also known as Antabuse."

"So, he was trying to quit drinking."

"The hospital was able to confirm with his personal physician that he'd started on it three days ago."

Reese turned back to Linda. She was staring at the screen on her cell phone, scrolling through photos. From his position behind her, he could see the images as they flitted past. She stopped on one of them: it was of her and Mike, both some years younger, hair tousled, smiling lazily at the camera. Probably taken by Mike, holding the camera with his outstretched arm. Neither of them appeared to be wearing much and it looked as if they were in a bed, pillows and a comforter bunched haphazardly around them. A second honeymoon? Reese wondered. His voice broke into her reverie.

"Did you know that your husband had gone to his doctor for help to quit drinking?" Linda shook her head, still looking at the photo. "Three days ago. The hospital found Antabuse in his system.'"

"That was the day after I left. Wait, did you say the hospital?" She straightened up, turning to look at him. "Mike's in the hospital?"

Reese walked over to stand in front of her. "That's why he didn't show up, Linda. He was in an accident. His car was totaled. He's lucky to have survived. As it is, he's got amnesia." The horrified look on her face told him that his words were having the intended affect. "He doesn't remember why he flew out here. But, I guess the police will let him know after you speak with them."

* * *

Reese had moved his car to a different spot on the street in case someone had noticed it sitting there. He was still able to watch the building entrance to make sure Linda didn't try to leave before the police showed up. She'd made the call as instructed and was clear that she should tell the police that some Good Samaritan had intervened to subdue Donovan when he started to assault her. He didn't think that she would have too much trouble convincing the investigators that she didn't know what Donovan was planning. But, he wasn't sure he really cared if she did.

"The police were able to identify the car in Strong's hit and run."

Reese smiled. Even though it was now apparent the accident really was just that, Finch liked to clear up the loose ends when he could.

"The young lady who was driving said that Strong's car suddenly swerved into her lane. She clipped the car and it went off the road into a pole. She said she stopped briefly, but then panicked and left. The footage from the traffic cameras back up her story."

"Any idea why Strong swerved?"

"Given the timing, the police guess that, while he was driving, he was putting Donovan's address into the navigator and he lost control of the car."

Reese saw a couple of police cars pull up in front the condominium, lights flashing. Linda Strong stepped out to meet the officers as they hurried up the steps. After a brief conversation, they all went inside.

Reese waited a few minutes and then started the car. He wanted to be gone before the police came back out and began going to the other residences in an attempt to find witnesses. The traffic was getting heavier; the work day was over and people were starting to come home. Reese eased his car into the road.

"Finch?"

"Yes, Reese?"

"How do you think Strong will take the news about his wife?"

"You mean that her lover was going to kill him? Not well, I'd imagine. But, if they'd had a good marriage, things wouldn't have gotten to this point."

Reese considered this as he maneuvered through the early evening traffic. "They did have good times," he said, remembering the photo Linda had on her phone. That she still had it and the way she looked at it spoke volumes. "From what she said, they only started having problems the last year or so."

"Well, then, his reaction would depend on how much he remembers." There was a pause. "If he remembers his marriage and the older, good times then I would think it would be quite a shock. On the other hand, if he doesn't remember her at all… I guess he would be confused, but, it might not hurt as much."

"So, do you think he'd be better off not remembering?" There was no response. "Finch?"

"I'm sure we all have things we would rather not remember, Reese." Finch's voice had a reflective note.

"Some of us more than others."

"Probably."

They were both quiet for many minutes. When Finch spoke again, his voice was back to his usual business-like manner. "Reese, things appear to be quiet for the moment. No need to come back to the library. I'll let you know if anything comes up."

A grin slowly appeared and widened on Reese's face, but he was careful to keep his tone neutral. "Okay, Finch. Have a good evening."

After a moment, Finch responded. "You, too, Reese."

* * *

"Harold?"

Finch blinked and looked up. Sarah, curled up next to him on the couch, had turned to look at him, her book and reading glasses now on the couch next to her. He smiled. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"No. It's just you been looking at the same page for some time now. Did Wittgenstein say something…unexpected?" Her smile was teasing. She knew he'd read this book before. In fact, they had discussed it not that long ago.

He closed the book. "Hardly." In fact, he hadn't been reading at all; he'd been listening to the music she'd put on earlier and his mind had wandered. He paused, trying to decide how to best bring up the subject he'd been thinking about. "I read something in the news today, about a man who'd been in a severe car accident. He survived, but he has amnesia now." He paused. "I was wondering what that would be like."

Sarah looked at him for a moment, then sat up, facing him. She was wearing a men's styled shirt and a pair of jeans - his favorite combination on her. Her brow was furrowed and she ran a hand through her hair, apparently taking his statement at face value. "I would think it would be pretty strange, having part or all of your past suddenly missing. After all," she said, looking at him, "the people we meet and all of the things that happen to us go towards making us who we are."

He hesitated. Cautiously, he asked, "You wouldn't want to forget some of the awful things?"

A sad smile crept onto her lips. "No. Not even the ones that come back to haunt me." Her head tilted a little as she regarded him. "You?" It was a pointed question.

He smiled a little. She never asked, but his injuries and scars, all of which she'd seen, spoke of horrific events. "I used to think so. But, as time passes, I think I've come to terms with them." Thoughtfully, he reached a hand out and cupped the side of her face. The side that, not so long ago, sported the brutal results of her assault. "I wish I could have gone with you to the cemetery."¹

"That's okay. I'm not sure I would have wanted you to see me at that moment." Her smile morphed into that little secret smile that seemed to be just for him. "And besides, you got to surprise me. I don't know if I said so yesterday, but I appreciated you picking me up at the airport. It meant that we got to spend more time together." Taking his hand in both of hers, she turned it palm up. She lightly stroked his fingers, one at a time, all the while giving him that smile that made his heart rate speed up. "I think I know a way to make the old bad memories seem less important."

"Oh? What's that?" He knew full well where this was going, but he still wanted to hear her say it.

Releasing his hand, she moved over to sit on his lap, her bent legs straddling him. Her scent and the heat from her body wrapped around him invitingly as she slowly leaned forward. "You make lots of new good ones," she murmured, unbuttoning his tie-less shirt. "Shall we?"

He removed his glasses and set them on the side table. "Yes. Let's."

¹'Friends and Commitments' original fiction


End file.
